


For One So Small, You Seem So Strong

by royal_chandler



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Domestic, Established Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, Parenthood, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:29:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1800466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_chandler/pseuds/royal_chandler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Charles and Erik put their pancakes on hold for their son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For One So Small, You Seem So Strong

**Author's Note:**

> I was scrolling through my dash on tumblr and someone wanted a domestic!AU with Erik and Charles raising Peter and I responded, "SO DO I!"
> 
> This is unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own so please feel free to point them out. Peter turned into Pietro so many times during the writing of this fic, I can't even tell you. Also I stole Evan Peters' curls for the making of this because they're wonderful and would be stunning in silver. [Tumblr told me so.](http://quickmaximoff.tumblr.com/post/88988905046)
> 
> The title is totally from Tarzan's "You'll Be In My Heart."

"Good morning, darling," Charles greets his husband when he rolls into the kitchen to find him by the griddle and mixing batter in a bowl without the use of his hands. Charles gladly reciprocates the deep kiss he's given. After a warm moment, he retrieves the stack of plates that Erik left on the island and makes his way over to the table.

"Tea?" Erik asks.

Charles thinks on it as he sets the table. It's hotter than usual this morning and he feels plenty energized without caffeine as is. He believes orange juice will do just fine, says as much. "Thank you, love, but I'm alright. It's mid-June. It may be time to start waning off. If the temperature drops low enough tonight, I'll take some then."

"You haven't checked your phone then. The low of today is supposed to be eighty degrees, Charles. It's why I had to get up during the night to adjust the thermostat." Erik says.

"Thank you for that." Laughing, Charles comments, maybe somewhat teasing, "Not the sort of wet sheets I want to wake up with."

He's pleased when he hears Erik's indrawn breath, the clang of the metal spoon on the countertop. It's nice to know that he still has 'it' after sixteen years of marriage. He knows that Erik is very much in love with him and forever will be; he's just as passionate as he was on the day that they wed but sometimes the romance department (read: sex) is not always ideal. Which is normal. Charles' health aside, they lead busy lives. He's still in the midst of tenure at the university and Erik became the leading engineering executive at his company five years ago and hasn't really gotten to slow down since. Add in raising their thirteen year old son and life has a tendency to be a handful. Charles can't be blamed for taking great delight in getting Erik riled up on a Saturday morning.

Erik clears his throat before resuming his task of spooning batter onto the griddle. Charles thinks he sees a hint of pink in his face. "Did you run into Peter upstairs?"

"No. I heard him fumbling around when I got up this morning though," Charles states while retrieving knives and forks from the drawer. He hadn't checked in too closely when he woke, not wanting to intrude on Peter's privacy but he routinely scans the house when he rises, listening for either the softness of his family's dreams or slow murmurings that are just beginning to rise with the sun. Peter had been awake, he's sure. "Has he not come done yet?"

"I haven't heard a peep out of him. Summer break or not, Peter's far from quiet this well into the day," Erik states. There's an undercurrent of worry there.

Normally, Charles wouldn't pay it much mind. Erik has always been one to get anxious over the slightest thing being out of place but he's right, this is very unlike Peter. He and Erik barely caught a wink of sleep when Peter was first brought home from the hospital. He'd cry and scream for hours on end. They'd change him, feed him, rock him, sing—Erik had been particularly fond of attempting to soothe Peter with Pink Floyd lyrics. They'd been oddly melodic—but a good part of the time, it wouldn't work. They'd even taken him to the ER one night, it'd gotten so terrible. Charles will never forget the helpless feeling, the strong hold that Erik's hand had had on his, his husband convinced that something was toxic in his genes, his fears chaotic and loud in Charles' head.

But the pediatrician on-call soon assuaged their shared concern, calmed their hearts. Peter was just a fussy baby. Some infants are suspiciously quiet and others are terrifyingly brazen, the doctor had said. It would turn around within a few months once the baby adjusted. Thankfully that had turned out to be true and not a simple platitude. Peter's tears became frequent coos, soon smiles and laughs. He'd been a beautifully rambunctious, funny, and mischievous child, and always, always an early riser.

Charles mentally searches for his son's thoughts. The response is feelings of heat and discomfort. He gets a vision of Peter sleeping fitfully on his bed, his face twisted in pain. It's a familiar image but still troubling.

"He's sick," Charles tells Erik, putting the silverware aside. "I believe that he has a fever. Grab the cold compress and a glass of water."

Erik does so. He switches off the griddle absentmindedly as they make their way to the Peter's room.

Charles is the first one in the room, Erik having made a quick detour to their bathroom's medicine cabinet. A response innate after becoming a parent, he physically aches at the sight of his son.

He moves over to him and softly brushes his bangs from his forehead, the damp silver nearly charcoal colored. He presses the back of his hand there, finds that he indeed is burning up. "Peter, it's Dad." _Peter, baby, I need you to wake up for me._

It's take a moment for Peter to stir and blink open those beautiful brown eyes slowly. They're brighter than normal. "Dad?"

And that title won't ever lose its punch. Charles smiles at him, cards his fingers through Peter's hair that's growing so long. It's in need of a cut but Charles would be lying if he said he isn't charmed by the curls. "How are you feeling, love?"

"If I tell you the truth, I'd have to pay a dollar to the swear jar," Peter says with a tiny smirk. He grimaces after the cheeky remark.

His voice is very hoarse.

Charles grabs the water he'd set on the nightstand. Encourages Peter to sit up. "Can you do that for me?"

"Do I have to?" Peter groans. "Horizontal is pretty much all I can handle right now. I'm awesome right here."

Charles frowns. He doesn't want to exert him but it's for the best. "You sound like the neighbors' gravel driveway, Peter, so yes, I'm going to need you to sit up."

"The children's Tylenol expired two years ago, Charles," Erik announces as he just about runs in. "I had to throw it out."

"Makes sense seeing as how the last time he was sick was almost three years ago," Charles replies. Peter hardly ever feels under the weather, much less does he ever get this sick. It puts Charles' stomach in knots. "Did you bring ours?"

Erik rolls his eyes at that, obviously thinking it's a foolish inquiry but Charles has lived with this man for nearly two decades, it's very much not a ridiculous question. All the same, his husband produces the cold syrup and thermometer he has in hand. "He's thirteen now. It should be fine?"

"Yes, darling," Charles says. "Help him sit up, please."

Decisively, Erik gets into the small bed and fits himself behind Peter. He settles his back against the Transformers pillows and splays his legs on either side of their son, his cheek resting against the crown of Peter's head, a support system. And Charles has to remind himself that his child is sick, that now is not the time to be turned on. His life is made up of these inappropriate moments.

"You okay, Schatz?" Erik asks kindly.

Peter takes a couple of sips of the water before answering. "Scheiße."

Now it's Charles' turn to roll his eyes. "I know exactly what that means, Peter," Charles warns, setting the glass back down.

"Sorry," Peter grumbles, a perfect imitation of his father.

 _One day, I'm going to punish you for teaching him curses in German_ , he sends to Erik.

 _I'm looking forward to it_ , Erik sends back.

Charles takes the thermometer from Erik and gently places it under Peter's tongue when he opens his mouth. About a minute later it beeps and floats out with a reading of 100.4.

Erik promptly prepares the small cup of medicine. He instructs Peter to drink it and apologizes for its flavor before hand.

They get him to gulp down most of the water but he passes on the cold compress, shivering conveniently, chattering teeth and all. Wonderful actor, their son. As though his parents don't remember him constantly referring to it as the ugly hat the last time he was ill. Charles and Erik let it go because he does seem to be perfectly content against Erik's chest.

"Did you wake up like this?" Charles questions softly, during a comfortable quiet.

Peter shakes his head. He still looks tired but his face is more relaxed, so very innocent-looking. He's innocent-sounding when says, "I ran into the wall and then I got sick."

Within a split second of one another, Charles and Erik respond respectively:

"What?"

"How in the hell did you manage that?"

Peter just shrugs like it's no big deal because despite how childlike he looks now, he's still a teenage boy who takes pride in the horrid stench of his gym socks and thinks that pizza plus French fries is a well balanced dinner choice. He coughs before explaining. "I don't know. I got up to go to the bathroom and the next thing I know, I'm on my ass."

Charles doesn't bother admonishing him, too distracted by the sequence of events. "How?"

"I ran really fast," he drawls out. "Like the Flash. It was pretty wicked...until I felt like I had to hurl."

"Right," Erik says nodding, his speech pattern just as slow. Non-verbally he asks whether or not they should check for a brain injury. Charles pinches him discreetly.

Charles leans in. "Will you show me?"

Peter doesn't hesitate at all, unconditionally trusting and Charles is struck with a vicious want for him to never grow up. To always stay his sweet little boy. When the Peter leans in as well, Charles' fingers reach out to his temple.

He finds Peter earlier, getting up from his bed perfectly healthy. Peter goes to walk toward the door but is off in a silver blur, traces of his blue pajamas mixed in. There's a hard thump when Peter hits the wall. Charles feels it in between his right arm and shoulder. It's almost immediately that Peter grows feverish and irritable, gives up on the bathroom and climbs into bed. He thinks to call out for his dads but falls asleep too fast.

Charles pulls out of his memory but not too far away. He kisses Peter's blissfully cooling forehead as he passes what he just saw on to his husband.

Erik inhales sharply. "His powers manifested?"

"His powers manifested," Charles confirms with a swell of pride as he settles back into his chair. There's a burning sting behind his eyes, he's so filled with love.

Peter looks between them confused and turns to Erik. "But I thought my hair was my mutation."

"Not only," Erik says with a smile, rubs his nose to Peter's. "You can move extremely fast, son. We'll probably have to baby-proof the house again. Let me see your arm. Does it hurt?"

"No, not too bad." Peter rolls up his sleeve. It's not an angry red but there's definitely discoloration. Peter moves his arm around, doesn't wince. "Are you really going to baby-proof the house, Pop? That's embarrassing. If you do, I'm never inviting anyone over again."

"All the better for me. Something has to be done, Peter," Erik reasons. "We can't let you run around the house slamming into walls, can we?"

Peter gets a glint in his eye.

"Do not answer that. It's rhetorical," Charles says quickly.

...

**Epilogue**

Charles barely holds down the papers he has to grade when Peter zips into the kitchen, bringing in a small wind.

"Peter Lehnsherr-Xavier," he starts.

"I know, I know, I know. I didn't mean it, I swear," Peter says a mile a minute. Beaming, he hands over a paper of his own. "But look! I got an A on my algebra test!"

There's a sticker with a lightning bolt in the top corner that reads 'You're One In A Million!' Charles hugs Peter to him. "This is wonderful, love! I'm so proud of you! Do you want to hang it on the refrigerator? I might have stopped by the store on the way home. Gotten someone's favorite ice-cream in the freezer."

"Really?" Peter asks excited, nearly bursting with it.

"Maybe. Can't be too sure unless you look." Charles shrugs and winks at him. He's careful to take advantage of the time he has to get a grasp on his students' assignments.

Peter has his test up and rocky road in front of himself at the island in ten seconds flat.

Erik walks in with his suitcase and Peter's backpack and practice cleats. He places the backpack on the stool beside Peter's and the cleats on the floor, right next to the trash bin.

"Thanks, Pop!" Peter manages between messy bites.

"You're welcome," Erik murmurs as he stalks toward Charles. He drops into the adjacent chair and moves it closer. He kisses him once, twice. "Missed you."

"Missed you more," Charles breathes against his lips. Kisses him again. He keeps the side of Erik's face cradled in one hand. "Obnoxiously long day?"

Erik hums in the affirmative. His sticks his thumb over his shoulder in Peter's direction. "Please tell me you know you're the reason why he thinks that junk food is the most important category of the food pyramid. You sure you want to deal with that sugar rush?"

"For the rest of my life," Charles says happily.

...

**fin**

**Author's Note:**

> My knowledge of the German language comes from Google. I'm very sorry.


End file.
